


Perfect Pull

by MajaLi



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Police, Falling In Love, Getting Together, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8990011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajaLi/pseuds/MajaLi
Summary: They say true love conquers all. In the case of Detective Toews and his new partner, however, judicious application of caffeine may also be required.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 10,000 thanks to my amazing betas/sounding boards S and K! You ladies keep me sane <3

_One: Non-Coffee_

Jonny slaps the side of the ancient breakroom coffee machine, swearing blearily under his breath in the way only the morning after an unexpected night shift can induce.

"Fucking horseshit fucking thing," he hisses, rattling the glass pot beneath its brown-stained drip. "What kind of fucking cop doesn't refill the coffee machine? Fucking _sacrilege_."

"I did refill it," says a mild voice behind him. Jonny turns and takes in: two scuffed shoes; pleated black pants with a spray of mud-stain running from ankle to knee; a blue shirt, rolled to the elbows and creased from a shoulder holster; an equally blue tie, knot hanging loose to its wearer's second button; and a shock of golden hair, clipped short at the sides, surmounting - you guessed it - the bluest pair of eyes he's ever seen.

Not that blue is an uncommon color in a police station, but this just seems excessive.

"Excuse me?" he says.

"I _did_ refill the coffee," blue-eyes repeats, taking a sip from his styrofoam cup. The coffee slurps between his pink lips, obnoxious and a little obscene. "Just wait five minutes, you don't have to beat the poor thing to death."

Jonny is so, so very not in the mood for this, and -

"Oh, good!" Commander Quenneville's personal assistant, Meghan, scampers between them, long sleeves of her cardigan spilling back from her fingertips as she pushes her overly large (and, Jonny suspects, largely decorative) glasses up her nose. "You found him!"

Blue-eyes gives her, and then Jonny, one long, slow blink each. "I did?"

"Stop that, you," Meghan giggles, swatting at his arm. Jonny doesn't miss the way he cringes back a little, the muscles in his forearms tightening as he hides the curl of his lip behind another sip of coffee. "Jonny, this is Detective Patrick Kane, our new transfer from District One."

"...pleasure." Jonny holds out his hand, not realizing until after he's done so that it's still speckled with grounds from where he'd been taking out his antemeridian displeasure on the coffee machine. Kane takes it, his grip warm and dry; half the grounds come away on him, and Jonny cringes a little as Kane not-so-surreptitiously brushes his hand off on the side of his coffee cup.

"Likewise," Kane says, after a beat, and then: "Aren't you a little young to be my senior partner?"

Fucking. Horseshit. Fucking. Day.

\-- -- --

_Two: Au Lait_

"Here." Kane slides into the front passenger seat of the freezing car, elbow bumping against Jonny's and jostling the binoculars against his nose. "Brought you a present, too."

Jonny peers at him in the dark of the alley, parked across the street and behind some strategically piled discarded pipes from the McDonald's where, they are relatively sure, the secret sauce is more secret (and white, and powdery, and illegal) than prescribed by corporate headquarters. Patrick bumps his elbow again, pushing the paper coffee cup at Jonny until he has no choice but to take it or risk the lid popping off from the sheer force of Kane''s enthusiasm.

"Go on," Kane urges, all but wriggling in his seat as he holds his own cup between his hands, watching Jonny with poorly concealed glee.

Jonny takes a sip - and chokes, nearly spraying the sweet mouthful all over his own dashboard before gritting his teeth and swallowing it down.

"This has milk in it," he accuses, feeling betrayed even though he didn't even ask for the stupid coffee in the first place. It's one thing to have decided to go without, for his own good; it's entirely another to have the prospect of coffee dangled in front of him, only to be cruelly snatched away by his own ill-fated lactose intolerance.

"Almond milk," Kane says happily. Jonny gapes.

"Almond…?" He looks at the paper cup again, but there's no green Starbucks logo, or even the garish purple-and-orange from Dunkin' Donuts. Just the ubiquitous, artsy mug-and-beans design found on every generic takeout cup in the state of Illinois.

"Yeah, man, it's a thing now." Kane looks hurt, like Jonny's being deliberately cruel, which is completely unfair and absolutely should not make the warm coffee curdle in his stomach. "Plenty of places have it, not just the frou-frou hipster shit. Did you want soy instead? I can go back…"

"No!" As if Jonny would send Patrick back out into a Chicago November at two in the morning, either way. He's not a _monster_. "I was just surprised. Thanks, man." 

Kane settles, then, grin dialing back up, wide enough to make Jonny roll his eyes.

"Didn't make detective at twenty-five for nothing, Toews. I observe all. I see aaaaaaaall." He uses his thumbs and index fingers to make ridiculous goggles around his eyes, coffee balanced precariously on the dashboard until Jonny takes a swipe at it just on principle. Patrick knocks his hand out of the way with a squawk, cradles the cup to his chest like an infant and popping off the lid to coo sweet nothings to the dark liquid inside. 

Jonny huffs, shifting in his seat to get the blood flowing in his thighs again, and raises his binoculars back to the McDonald's. Order is restored to the universe.

\-- -- -- 

 _Three: Turkish_  

"Oh my God," Patrick moans, "oh my _fucking_ God, Jonny, _Jonny, Jonny - !_ "

" _What?_ " Jonny snarls, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his outdoor uniform coat, trying to ignore the unseasonable chill of the sidewalk outside the Greek Orthodox church. The patrons of its post-Easter cultural festival don't seem to mind, waving cheerfully to both officers as they roll past into the temporary parking lot, but damn it, there's still snow on the ground from the blizzard two days ago, and Jonny did not expect to be freezing his ass off in the middle of April. 

"They have Turkish coffee, fuck, I need one _so bad_ ." Patrick is even worse off than Jonny, having apparently forgotten about the blizzard entirely. He'd shown up without a hat _or_ gloves, wearing a short-sleeved uniform shirt because, he claimed, it was the only one he could find. Lucky for him, he wore the same size as Officer Panarin, who just happened to have a spare coat, because _of course_ he did. Jonny is really getting sick of the universe bailing Patrick out like this. "We shouldn't even have to be here, Jonny, come on, this is rookie beat cop bullshit."

"This is Supporting our Fellow Officers in a Time of Crisis," Jonny says sternly, doing his best to inject the capital letters into his voice. "It's not their fault Sharpy overdid it on messing with Darling's chili and gave half the force food poisoning."

Patrick whinges and bounces up and down on his toes, not quite stomping but dangerously close for a grown man licensed to carry firearms denied to ordinary civilians. Jonny _does not_ find it endearing.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" A thin man in horn-rimmed spectacles trots up the steep sidewalk between Jonny and the church's main parking lot. His hair is as black as his beard is white, and a clerical collar peeks out of the top of his puffy windbreaker. "Thank you for coming so early; every year I think we'll push to an afternoon opening, and every year the Parish Council tells me that we're just too busy. Can I get you anything from the food tents? Coffee? Loukoumades? They're fresh out of the fryer…"

"No, thank you, Father," Patrick says, touching his forelock in lieu, it appears, of tipping his cap. "We're happy to serve."

"But it's so cold!" The priest presses, spreading his gloved hands to Jonny. "You need something to keep warm, it's the least we can do."

Jonny glances at Patrick's red nose, and the soft rime of frost dusting the tips of his hair because he apparently couldn't even be bothered to dry off properly before showing up for an outdoor assignment in the freezing cold.

"Actually," he says, "if you have any of that Turkish coffee…"

" _Greek_ coffee! Yes!" The priest claps his hands and spins on his heel. "I'll be right back!"

"Wait - wait, let me give you - " Jonny starts, digging in his back pocket for his wallet, but the priest is already halfway down the hill. "Damn it."

"Nice," Patrick snickers at him, the words a little slurred by numb lips. "Extorting payouts from the local clergy, _nice_."

"Shut your mouth before your tongue turns blue, Kane," Jonny snaps, "You're paying me back in beer."

Of course the priest won't take Jonny's money when he comes back with two steaming cups of coffee, thick and black as the asphalt on the ground and devilishly sweet, as well as a paper basket of fried dough balls that Patrick pounces on gleefully, covering his fingers in sticky syrup despite the two-tined toothpick provided.  He even manages to stuff one in Jonny's mouth, much to the amusement of a passing pack of children, decked out in their embroidered vests and tassled shoes.

Jonny's had worse, he supposes.

\-- -- --

_Four: Pour Over_

"I wanna lawyer!" Their overweight perp roars into the night, pounding his meaty, cuffed fists against the metal cage dividing the back seat of the patrol car from where Patrick and Jonny sit. "I'm not going nowhere til I get a lawyer, you bastards! I know my rights!" 

"You have the right to _remain silent_ ," Patrick grits out over his shoulder, while Jonny tries to concentrate on the road. "Anything you say about getting a group of your buddies to beat up your girlfriend's best friend because you thought they were sleeping together can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, your own or one appointed for you should you so choose, _after_ we transport you to the station, process you, and make sure your stupid ass isn't carrying any drugs, guns, fake ID, or other shit that's illegal for a two-time felon to possess. _Capice?_ "

"If he was any kinda man, he _woulda_ been sleeping with her," the perp snarls, giving the cage one last slam before slumping back in his seat, huffing and puffing. "Guess you must be as big a faggot as he - "

Jonny slams on the brakes as they swing into the station parking lot and the perp hurtles forward, stretched out seatbelt doing nothing to slow him as his face slams into the cage with a wet crunch. He howls.

"You broke by dose! You bastads! This is bolize brudalidy!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Jonny mutters, leaving the patrol car running as he hauls the perp out of the back seat, up the steps, and through the doors of the station house. He scrawls his signature in the log by the booking room and shoves the perp into the arms of the first uniformed officer he sees. 

"Gay basher," he snaps, "from that gang assault. When you're done, dump him in a cell and keep him _out of my sight_."

When he swings around, Patrick is standing at the other end of the short hallway, mouth hanging open. Jonny can't even look at him as he stomps past, just grabs him by the sleeve and drags him back to their car.  He throws himself into the driver's seat, barely able to wait until Patrick's buckled in before burning rubber out into the street.

They drive for twenty minutes before Patrick so much as opens his mouth.

"Where are we…?"

"There was this diner Sharpy used to take me to," Jonny says, "near the University, before he…y'know…"

"Transferred departments?" Patrick cracks a small smile in the corner of Jonny's eye. "He's two blocks down the street, he didn't _die_ , dummy."

"Whatever," Jonny mumbles. "The point is, there was this diner, this twenty-four hour, greasy spoon little diner, made the best damn coffee in Chicago. No, no _shut up_ , I'm serious, fucking amazing coffee.  And we'd go there when I was a rookie, whenever I was having a, a meltdown, or a crisis - "

" - as rookies do," Patrick agrees, nodding. "That's where we're going?"

"No, the diner got shut down like a year later for massive health code violations. Turns out they were adding all sorts of chemical shit to the food to make it taste better, I mean, banned by the FDA for causing cancer and birth defects chemical shit. But," Jonny finds a parking spot on the side of the street and shoos Patrick out of the car, "the space got scrubbed and taken over by this organic single-origin fair-trade hipster place, and their coffee's pretty okay."

"Pretty okay, huh?" Patrick eyes the wooden sign above The Whole Bean, head tipped cautiously  to the side.

"Come on, they're only serving for another hour." Jonny jogs up the short steps, holding the door open for Patrick and then following him into the naturalistically lit, wood-paneled cafe. He herds Patrick toward a pair of overstuffed, red velvet armchairs, side by side and separated by a square coffee table, before approaching the bar to place their order.

Patrick seems confused when Jonny returns to their seats without any coffee in hand, but a few moments later one of the baristas steps out from behind the counter, carrying a wooden pouring stand in one hand and a collection of glasses and papers in the other. As Jonny and Patrick watch, he sets up the stand on the low table between them, placing a small, clear glass coffee pot in the lower half and fitting a glass cone and paper filter into the top. He disappears again, for longer this time, then returns with a silver cup of what smells like freshly ground coffee and a silver kettle with a long, curving spout. He pours steaming water from the pot through the filter, then discards the waste from the kettle and pours half the grounds into the filter paper, tapping the glass gently to make them settle. 

"A twenty-forty pour is recommended for this bean," he tells Jonny, who waves him on. Jonny watches Patrick's confusion turn to understanding, turn to something like delight as the barista pours a steady stream of water in concentric circles over the grounds for twenty seconds, then pauses and lets it drop through for forty before beginning to pour again. He relaxes into the familiar rhythm of it, watching the foam of water and coffee bloom at the top of the cone before subsiding into the pot below. After four cycles, the coffee pot is full and the barista pours it out into a squat ceramic mug, which he offers to Patrick. 

"Oh, this is for - ? Uh, thank you." Patrick takes the mug and sips shallowly, managing a smile and a thumbs up for the barista. He nods and walks away with the kettle; as soon as he's out of sight, Patrick all but drops the mug on the table and turns triumphantly to Jonny.

"You're a secret hipster!" He exclaims, hushed but insistent. "Oh my God, I knew you were a coffee snob, but this is just - what even was all that?" He prods at Jonny's arm repeatedly, until Jonny can't help but smile back. "You know, the machine I've got at home can make drip coffee too, and you don't have to pay it nine bucks an hour plus tips."

"It's not _drip_ , it's _pour over_ ," Jonny says, playing up the snobbery factor just to make Patrick laugh and jab at him again until the barista returns with fresh water to make Jonny's cup. Jonny thanks him when he's done, and he smiles through his scruffy beard and says brightly,

"Always a pleasure, Jon. Give my best to Darren."

Jonny winces: mostly because he feels awful for not recognizing someone who apparently recognizes him, or at least recognizes "Darren's boyfriend,"; partly because of _all the ways_ to come out to your partner.

"We're not…I won't be coming back with him," Jonny says awkwardly. The barista's hand flies to his mouth.

"Oh. I'm so sorry - "

"No, no, it's fine," Jonny reassures him. "Thanks very much, you've been great."

The barista scuttles away, and Jonny buries his nose in his coffee to avoid having to look at Patrick for a few moments. When he does glance up, Patrick is staring at him, a light flush on his nose and cheeks.

"You…?" He croaks. Jonny feels his ears heat.

"Yeah. Um, both," he adds, because it's true, and because he doesn't want Patrick wondering if Jonny was lying all the times he talked about Kim Kardashian or whoever, with the other guys. Although now that he thinks of it, he can't recall Patrick ever taking part in those particular conversations. 

After a few minutes of silent slurping, Patrick rubs the back of his neck and says softly, "Me, too."

"…oh," says Jonny, the word making a ripple in the surface of his coffee.

 _Oh_.

\-- -- --

_Five: Affogato_

"This is…" Patrick turns the dessert menu over, and then over again, his nose scrunched up in an adorable little squinch that Jonny very much wants to lean over the table to kiss. "Why is literally half of this coffee?"

Jonny makes an elaborate shrugging gesture, well and truly lubricated by several glasses of red wine and an enormous bowl of dairy-free bucatini carbonara that, frankly, he's a little appalled he was able to put away so entirely. 

"S'cultural," he says, propping his chin on one hand, content to watch Patrick peruse the menu until they're politely offered the check, if that's what Patrick wants to do. When the waiter returns, Patrick leans up to him and holds the stiff paper next to his cheek, blocking Jonny's view of his lips as he makes a quiet request. The waiter shoots a quick glance at Jonny, then nods and trots off. Jonny tips his head to the side but stays silent, curious; he's quickly rewarded when the waiter places a curved, clear glass mug in front of him, two scoops of _La Vela_ 's signature vegan whole-bean vanilla ice cream tucked neatly inside.  A single shot of espresso follows, the crema mixing into the rest of the dark liquid as the waiter pours it over the ice cream and tops the whole thing with an elaborate twist of shaved chocolate.

Jonny can barely wait for Patrick to be served before he digs in with his spoon, a groan slipping out from between his lips as the bitter coffee and sweet vanilla burst together on his tongue. He lets his eyes flutter closed, savoring the next bite, and the next; when he finally looks up, Patrick is watching him with pupils blown wide. He hasn't even touched his own mug.

"Check?" Jonny says hoarsely, spoon clattering against the glass as it drops from his numb fingers.

He doesn't have to say another word.

\-- -- --

_Plus One: French Press_

Patrick looks good in Jonny's arms, gasping his pleasure into Jonny's bicep. 

He looks _great_ in Jonny's enormous Notre Dame Martial Arts Institute t-shirt and absolutely nothing else.

But he looks _fucking incredible_ in Jonny's kitchen, curled possessively around Jonny's French press and hissing blearily at Jonny's electric kettle at ten in the morning, as though he wasn't perfectly awake ten minutes ago when he wormed his freezing cold toes in between Jonny's thighs and then scampered out of bed before Jonny could exact vengeance.

Jonny takes pity on him anyway, reaching around to flip the kettle switch from "warm" to "heat." He brackets Patrick against the counter, tucking his nose into the side of Patrick's neck as Patrick fusses several heaping spoonfuls of grounds into the press and pours the boiling water over them. It takes him two and a half verses to realize Patrick is humming Chelsea Dagger, by which point Patrick has finished humming and is pushing down the plunger, careful not to agitate the grounds so that they slip back into the finished coffee. Patrick spends barely half a second looking around for a mug before shrugging and lifting the French press to his lips, slurping directly from the pour spout.

"Why are you like this?" Jonny mumbles into the nape of his neck. Patrick reaches back to pat his head and graciously holds the spout up to Jonny's lips. Jonny sips, tasting heat and thickness and the sweet spiciness of cracked cinnamon before Patrick steals it back.

"You have good coffee," Patrick says, leaning just a little deeper into Jonny's chest. Jonny braces himself, thinks that he could stay here for hours if Patrick asked.

"You make it better."

**Author's Note:**

> _Prompt: Cop AU! Jonny has been working as a cop for a few years now and Patrick is new but he's Jonny's new partner and they seem not to like each other at first but they fall in love over many cups of coffee at 3 in the morning._


End file.
